


the best-laid plans.

by lagunaloire



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Barebacking, Clothed Sex, FFXV Kink Meme, Loss of Virginity, Lowercase, M/M, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lagunaloire/pseuds/lagunaloire
Summary: he can't read them, these ancient inscriptions, nothing but jumbled lines and swirls to his knowledge, yet the rock seems to thrum under his touch and noctis understands this transfer of energy, at least. another dilapidated edifice to spelunk, another reminder that he's always, in some way, chosen.





	the best-laid plans.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt (http://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3016.html?thread=2520520#cmt2520520):  
> Some temple that no one can figure out how to get into, but ~somehow~ the bros get in. They make it all the way to the end, get the cool treasure and fight the monster. Same ol', same ol' right?
> 
> Except not. The temple won't let them out for some reason.
> 
> After snooping around for possible exits, they see some kind of inscription or maybe a mural and Ignis comes to the mind-boggling conclusion that a) only people in the presence of a virgin can enter the temple, and b) in order to leave that virginity needs to be sacrificed.
> 
> Noct is the only virgin in the group. Which means somebody's gotta fuck him.
> 
> #
> 
> op had bonus points but i contradicted one of them in that there's implied preexisting urt/ust between noctis and ignis, though noctis believes it was unrequited and has nearly left it all behind him whereas ignis has never allowed himself to overstep the boundaries of his duty as royal adviser. so this is really just a big stolen moment for them which, unfortunately, they don't get to commit to because neither of them is sure where the other person stands and, since the arrangement is for practicality and not sentimentality, there's no room whatsoever to bring it up. should read as bittersweet if i've pulled it off right.  
> 

they eat boiled tubers that night.

noctis stares at his portion — three, like the rest of them save ignis, who has volunteered one of his own roots to help alleviate gladio’s fatigue, all of them otherwise equal in their servings.

the fire pops and smokes and threatens fainting with what scarce kindling they could gather, much of it damp or caked in indiscernible must. guilt gnaws at noctis as he puts off sampling the meager dinner they’re lucky to have been able to scrounge out of this godforsaken temple. sooner or later, he expects ignis to mention the salubrious qualities of tubers and similar vegetables if noctis could simply get past the taste, but it’s not a matter of palate. air churns audibly in the acid of his stomach; he’s hungry, and if he could eat the elephant in the room and be done with both the pangs in his gut and this stifling silence, he would, but one will have to suffice.

“so, we can’t stay here,” noctis admits, finally, his head bowed towards the antiquated stone floor, uneven and grimy below him. their second day in this hellhole is drawing to an end and he sounds about as exasperated as gladio looks despite a valiant attempt to hide it on either end.

his shield snorts an affirmative noise, though he offers nothing himself, teeth snapping off the end of a thick root. it’ll be his last of three. the flames crackling at the center of their makeshift camp are modest, but the firelight reaches gladio’s narrowed eyes, illuminates them with red and gold even under the heavy line of his brow.

noctis doesn’t prod gladio for his thoughts, recalling how they’d argued the topic to presumed death yesterday, until the veins were raised in their necks and ignis and prompto were intervening with respective requests that the two of them _calm down, take it easy_. noctis doesn’t remember who suggested that they all sleep on it, but he regrets folding so quickly to the recommendation now, because time has made them weary and hungry and anxious with wondering how they’ll leave and when. yet none of them speaks a word. too polite, it seems, for that. or maybe the subject is too indelicate to be handled over dinner.

ignis sips something like tea, a mixture of the remaining tuber water and mint, from a metal cup. it smells pleasant, fragrant, but there’s no doubt in the prince’s mind that his adviser would rather be cracking open an ebony at present, not knocking back the dregs of their paltry meal and squandered herbs.

“i needn’t remind you, i’m sure,” noctis can’t quite make out his eyes, glare caught on his lenses. “that you’re not eating.”

“yeah, well.” he pushes his paper plate clockwise across the stonework and crosses his arms. “the whole doom and gloom atmosphere’s really killing my appetite.”

“good thing the human body can go longer without food than water then, huh?” prompto asks, humor bordering morbid, though not without just cause. his smile is tired but bright, he’s trying to stay positive, and for that, noctis feels some of the tension in his shoulders loosen.

in spite of himself, gladio guides them back to matters at hand, before the mood lightens to the point where they’re all complacent enough for another wasted day, trapped in some hapless tomb in the middle of nowhere. “we’ll run out of both if we don’t do something about _his majesty_ soon.”

“i was getting to that.”

“'s that right? didn’t sound like it.”

noctis’s jaw clenches. they all saw the inscriptions on the inner sanctum walls, the glyphs, the impossible seal of the entrance corroborating the temple’s various murals, their directions analog and strange and vaguely obscene. he shouldn’t need to reiterate the problem, what it is that strands them here, up the proverbial creek without a paddle. in truth, his face burns at the mere notion that similar words might leave him a second time — undoubtedly because noctis is still coming to terms with the idea that virginity is a social construct in all respects except the one which cloisters them in a magicked temple and that he’s the lucky bastard who holds the key to unlocking the door.

the campfire flickers, surges and shrinks, uncertain. noctis frowns and feels much the same, embarrassed to find himself in this position, mortified that the others ( _other_ ) should have to deal with it beside him. overwhelmed, he’d stalked off in the middle of their uneasy deliberations yesterday, unable to stomach the reasonings, sensible as they were. he regrets it now, regrets the trifled hours spent skirting around the inevitable.

“unless we — _i_ ,” he struggles to phrase it well, his hand seeking the nape of his neck, kneading the muscle there. nervous energy.

“we know, noct,” ignis cuts in. his tone is understanding, patient, though he and gladio exchange pointed glances before he adds on, “we’ll not ask you to repeat it.”

a few firm beats tick by in his chest, and noctis sighs and attempts lightheartedness with an uncurved mouth, gaze chasing the ebbing flames down into where the coals glow hot and silent. “then who’s it gonna be?”

* * *

it’s a messy forum.

in an encore of prior events, gladio is the first to suggest prompto be the one to do the honors; apparently he’d thought the two of them had been messing around since high school anyway, his earlier keenness on the subject wholly misguided. noctis isn’t sure gladio believes them when they both deny the allegations, so prompto, flustered, argues further that it’d be weird for the best man to sleep with the groom, only for ignis to comment the wedding is a _dubious_ affair at best at this point and better kept out of mind until their current predicament is resolved.

prompto is the most handsome prospect, ignis agrees, if only because there’s a level of closeness between friends such as they that might make the process smoother. less painful.

his own wording seems to click for ignis, then. he asks if prompto has experience with other men.

prompto confesses no, though his voice takes up an odd resonance when he does, as if it to say not for a lack of trying. noctis tells himself he’d imagined it and watches ignis shake his head faintly in response. to his left, gladio grunts, most likely feigning indifference because he'd assumed for years, and wrongly, at that.

noctis might laugh if this bump in the road didn’t mean an extension of the debate, already sick of the logistics and of how they pass him back and forth like the whole debacle is _justice monsters five_ and he’s the pinball.

there’s a bad pun about _scoring_ there, somewhere. noctis hates himself for recognizing it, drags his fingertips across his eyelids and tries to lose that particular thought in the gentle haze of phosphenes that filter into the mottled red and black.

his chagrin flares hot in his ears a few times after ignis and gladio tacitly dismiss prompto as an option, because the conversation turns into a series of implications that he’s fragile, that he can’t handle less than perfect, as if any of that matters when all they need to do is get back into the open world. noctis doesn’t pipe up to the contrary, however, much as the frustration coils in his throat. it’d be too easy to mistake defensiveness for bias, for wanting, and he and prompto are already avoiding each other’s eyes in light of recent talk.

so it’s between his shield and chamberlain. the air is palpably taut between them and all the way up to the high dome of the rocky ceiling. gladio sounds like he’s almost joking when he recommends they pull straws, but ignis doesn’t match his humor, merely adjusts his glasses, lowers that same hand to his chin and lapses into a pensive quiet.

the campfire spits sparks, dying.

“dare i ask your preference, noct?” ignis’s attention reroutes to where noctis sits, petulant, for what feels like the first time since this group huddle began, but the gentleness of his expression reminds noctis that ignis’s focus has never left him once. it’s both reassuring and not in the slightest. “though silence is, as always, an acceptable answer. perhaps even more so now, given our — _unfortunate_ circumstances.”

what noctis means to reply with is _whatever gets us out of here faster_ , but what comes out is, “gladio’s like a brother to me.”

he’s not sure why he says it. the same goes for any of them, and yet noctis’s arms are encircling the bends of his knees and holding them loose to his chest as his stare travels the length of a jagged crack in floor from top to bottom and back, again and again, and that’s what spills out of his mouth, distant and objective but nevertheless _telling_.

out of the corner of his eye, noctis fails to read ignis’s face. he’s usually better at it. knowing someone for a decade and some change does that, makes him think he’s seen every possible affected combination of their features, but there’s a quality to the way ignis’s lips part around nothing but silence that noctis can’t make heads or tails of.

the firelight is brightest on ignis’s skin, casting him in soft, honeyed shades of bronze, yet it too reveals nothing. ignis hums, and the sound melts into a contemplative “i see.” while gladio leans back on his palms, bemused, looking between ignis and noctis with an arched brow and a chuffed breath on his tongue, declaring _that settles it_. they have their escape plan.

half-grinning, prompto says, “way to take one for the team, ignis.” and only realizes afterwards, when noctis reaches for one of his snubbed roots and chucks it at prompto’s blond head, how poorly he’d phrased it.

* * *

the convenient thing about elemental deposits and magic flasks and elemancy overall is that hot water isn’t hard to come by if a prince of lucis has practiced hands and know what he’s doing. noctis meets both criteria, passes with flying colors.

by the same turn, bathing ( _rinsing_ , more or less ) at a moment’s notice is still a luxury — there are only so many veins of magic running through eos, and noctis can tap no more than what he can absorb and bottle and carry — but it’s not an all too unaffordable one, and the occasion is unprecedented enough that it’s difficult to gauge if it isn’t worth expending the last of their stockpiled ice to strip the dirt and dust and sweat from their skin.

 _their_ , of course, being noctis and ignis’s. ignis insists, which is a rarity in and of itself but not surprising because it’s _ignis_ , typical with nary a hair out of place or a button come loose even at the worst of times, and noctis figures that, should everything go just right, they won’t need to worry about crafting or casting spells until they’re out on the road again and this temple is far behind them.

one or two long corridors a ways and west of their haven, they find a dead end of a chamber with a modest pit indenting the floor, stone squares fractured underfoot, fissures stretching from wall to wall as if the ground were cobwebbed. ignis posits a tremor might’ve cleaved the area at some point, disrupted the foundations and added to the total disrepair of the tower, to which only noctis shrugs in reply, uninterested.

blizzard first, and again, and a third flask, until the room is chill with the harsh bite of mock-winter and the well in the floor is replete with ice. a few steps back, and from the safety of the hall, noctis pitches fire into the center of the chamber, hiss of steam bouncing off the ashlar and blowing hot, damp air into the passageway a moment later. he blinks the displaced hair from his eyes, cheeks dewy, and pivots to regard ignis, pointing a thumb at the provisional bath before them.

“there you have it. go wild,” noctis says, like he’s indulging a kid. the corner of his mouth slides up and it’s obvious he’s found a speck of amusement in how the tables have turned. “and try not to get yourself boiled. it’d suck if we had to go back to the drawing board this late in the game.”

ignis raises a brow, and noctis can see a patch of grime partially eclipsed by the frame of his glasses and the shadow they cast.

“duly noted.” ignis starts into the chamber, then tarries, tossing a glance over his shoulder. “shall i fetch you when i’m done?”

“yeah,” noctis nods, shifting on his feet and sidling a few strides away from the archway for privacy’s sake as ignis continues in and disappears from view. noctis lowers himself into a sit, back slanted against the wall, jagged edges of the masonry digging into his back through his jacket, and raises his voice just enough to be certain ignis can hear. “and make it quick. my knee could really use a soak.”

the light clinking of a belt buckle reverberating off sweating rock, and then, “you can soak when we’re all well out of this place.”

the back of noctis’s head thunks softly on the stonework, his eyes rolling in mute rebellion before slipping shut to the lingering warmth which swells throughout the corridor and the outstanding darkness cloaking it. he’s met again with the hazy feeling that this is all too surreal, dreamlike and nightmarish, but an absolute exhaustion sedates him, keeps him calm. noctis sighs something that almost ripples in his chest, something that falls short of a laugh, peculiar.

“sounds good.” 

* * *

back home, noctis used to take his time after a shower, lounging around towel-clad in the state-funded apartment he always kept a little on the messy side because some clutter and noise made it feel more lived in, less lonely, like it wasn't just noctis there most days, with ignis stopping by just to nitpick or drop off council meeting notes or make them both dinner, never staying longer than necessary, the two of them with their own studies to attend to and their friendship permanently couched in a backseat to duty, etiquette, and royal protocol.

but this isn't insomnia. time isn't on their side. noctis's unwashed clothes stick to his still wet skin as the four of them review the murals bordering the inner sanctum ( again ) in a last ditch effort to uncover an alternative retreat. even on reassessment, the paintings are too vivid for noctis's sensibilities, so he leaves the second examination to the others, spouting hypotheses amongst themselves, and runs his fingers over the dimly glowing runes chiseled into the walls instead.

he can't read them, these ancient inscriptions, nothing but jumbled lines and swirls to his knowledge, yet the rock seems to thrum under his touch and noctis understands this transfer of energy, at least. another dilapidated edifice to spelunk, another reminder that he's always, in some way, chosen.

withdrawing his hand from the wall, noctis spots ignis and gladio talking quietly near the far back of the chamber, where a wide stone platform rises no more than a yard or so off the ground. a sinking suspicion curls around the base of noctis's spine and he looks away, self-conscious, though not before he catches gladio fishing his wallet out from his pocket, ignis waiting on him, expecting.

"any hot new finds, dr. jones?" he doesn't remember prompto getting so close, but there he is, tone comically conspiratorial, looping his arm around noctis's shoulders, his eager eyes scanning the wall from which noctis has gleaned an astounding load of nothing.

"nah," noctis replies, shrugging against the weight prompto's lent him, a self-satisfied smirk darting across his face. "and call me indy."

* * *

when their search for a back-up proves in vain, they burn several minutes confirming their course of action, as if shuffling the idea around will quell the incredulity stewing in their guts. it doesn't, but after a few exchanges, prompto and gladio elect to give the other half of their team some space. they leave to re-position themselves just beyond the inner sanctum's threshold, holding fast in the thoroughfare outside of the main room, too nervous to put an excess of distance between their pairs should something unexpected happen, and yet, wanting desperately to be as far removed from the action as possible.

the middle ground is not ideal for either duo, but it suffices. mostly out of sight, mostly out of mind.

out of _sight_ , noctis realizes, but _sound_ could still be an issue. the ritual chamber is vast and tall, a generous walk between where the archway opens into the yawning domain to where he and ignis face the ceremonial dais, but even so, noctis doesn't care for the utter lack of _doors_.

“how do you want to do this, noct?” ignis asks, voice barely above a whisper but still full-bodied, substantial. he removes his blazer and lays it out over the platform, smoothing the fabric flat to make the most of it. the work doesn't please him, that much is clear in the creasing of his brow, but he seldom enjoys soiling his crownsguard attire regardless, so noctis doesn't think anything of it. really, noctis doesn't think much at all right now, head full of static and fuzzy with formless anticipation as he peels off his own jacket and offers it to ignis. it too comes to blanket the slab.

“you’re the adviser.” _you have the experience_ , noctis doesn't say, staring at where their coats align hem to hem and trying to remember a time when he's been as aware of everything he doesn't know about ignis's life as he is right now. the constellation of details all trace back to himself, their nexus, and it shames noctis to admit that he's understood ignis through little else besides lessons, schedules, and the seemingly one-sided give, give, give of their years spent familiar with each other. of course ignis would have a life outside of him. of course he would date and kiss and — “you tell me.”

"if it were only so simple."

ignis sounds tired, and for that, noctis regrets being difficult, like he's forgotten that he's not the only one making a sacrifice here. a common tale as of late. noctis drops his gaze, sheepish.

"yeah, i — sorry." 

"you needn't be. you _are_ —" ignis pauses, considers his words. "—untried, in this area, as it were. errant of me to assume you to had any particular . . . stances regarding the matter."

 _untried_. that's one way to put it. a breath winnows out of noctis's lungs with an uneven rise and fall of his shoulders. feeling light-headed, he turns on his heels and takes a seat on the platform, forearms crossing his thighs as he hunches over, defeat legible in the foundered carry of his shoulders.

"it's not too late to explore other options," ignis continues.

"what other options?" noctis peeks up through his bangs, brow knit. "everything in this room points to two choices: get busy, or get dead."

"could request gladio brute force the entrance open."

noctis cracks a smile at the image, but his mood remains the same, unplaceable and strange. antsy. he shakes his head nonetheless. " _could_. doesn't mean the big guy'd pull it off."

"no confidence in our resident survival expert?"

"uh, not that much."

"something to keep just between us, i suspect."

another thing, more like. "yeah, no kidding."

noctis reclines a few inches, weight braced on his palms behind him, the jackets which swath the slab rumpling at the contact, and watches as ignis pinches one of his gloves by the fingertip and pulls, unmasking the skin beneath, pale and unmarred and well kept. he tucks it into a back pocket, and then repeats the process with the other glove until both hands are exposed and idling, languid, at his sides.

“you’re sure, then?” ignis asks, cyan glow of the runes damasking the chamber gentle in his sandy hair.

"yeah." noctis nods stiffly, holding ignis’s gaze for a fraction of a second before it becomes too intimate, suffocating. “let's just get this over with.”

gravel shifts underheel, and something spikes and contorts in noctis's chest as ignis eases into a kneel between the angle of his legs, expression distant and focused at once. noctis feels the shells of his ears burn as one of ignis’s hands alights on the inside of his thigh, warmth of his palm threading through the thick fabric there. instinctively, noctis’s knees twitch for each other, an inch shrinking between them, his calves nearing ignis's flanks.

not missing a beat, ignis lifts his hand as if to withdraw it. his palm hovers over the top of noctis’s leg as he tilts an inquisitive glance up, quietly concerned. “perhaps—”

he doesn’t get to finish that sentence. noctis presses the hand back down with his own, the smooth ridge of ignis’s knuckles nudging the perspiring curve of his palm, and he tries to look resolute, like he’s not awash with guilt and a slew of anxieties revolving around what their friendship is and isn't and how nothing so base could possibly be covered in one man’s job description but leave it to ignis to go above and beyond.

“i’m fine, alright?” noctis says, inflexible. ignis’s hand is large beneath his and he panics, for an instant, that ignis can feel how his pulse has climbed in a matter of seconds. he swallows. “you?”

“the same, more or less.” the ambiguity of that is crushing. ignis must pick up on something that noctis isn't even aware of — a hair's breadth crinkle to noctis's brow or the faintest skip of a muscle in his jaw, perhaps, nothing so big as to warrant his own attention — because his expression loosens to a heartening note. "i wouldn't worry about me." a pause as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "ready, noct?"

 _yes_. _no_. _i can't_ not _worry_. noctis releases his clammy grip on ignis's knuckles. "as close as i'm gonna get."

with that, ignis's eyes slip south again, both sets of fingers converging on the front of noctis's shorts. embarrassed, noctis angles his stare upwards, the stone ceiling curving lofty and dark overhead as his zipper's audibly undone and ignis is pulling him out of his boxers, the confining palm warm and wide around him. the moisture abandons noctis's throat and makes for the back of his neck as he realizes he's not entirely soft and that ignis can _see_ that, can _feel_ it, so noctis spends a few rushed seconds wondering _when_ that happened until those thoughts jolt haphazardly into each other, indefinite and irrelevant, as ignis's fingers circle tighter and begin to move.

nothing — no lesson plans, no fireside chats, no momentary asides in the field with ignis's hand on his shoulder or wrist or anywhere that isn't _there_ — could've prepared him for this, noctis thinks. a stupid thought, maybe, but his higher faculties are on standby while ignis jerks him hard with short, neat, diligent strokes. in a way, it's familiar, reminds noctis of ignis's penmanship, the notes he'd leave on noctis's rough drafts when they needed work but noctis wasn't sure where to begin. in another way, it's foreign, different from how noctis ruts into his own tugging fingers when they're stopped at a motel and the shower head is spraying water short of scalding over his back and the bathroom is clouded with steam, tiles foggy.

different, but not bad. noctis doesn't want to be making the distinction, but ignis's thumb swipes smooth and heavy over the head of his dick, wrist rolling with the upswing, and noctis clips a coarse gasp hastily between his teeth and the swell of his bottom lip. he notices — imagines? — ignis's hand stutter briefly around the tip of him at the sound before resuming its flow, if a little firmer this time, a little quicker. noctis glares into the blackness looming high above and feels the blood simmer in his skin from the base of his groin up to the heights of his cheeks and tries to control the shaking in his knees, fingers curled into the sleeve of one of their jackets — ignis's, probably.

ignis's fist pumps faster, a blissful pace which has the muscles in noctis's thighs tensed and trembling, and then it doesn't, slowing so blatantly that noctis glances down before he can realize it's a mistake to do so, because ignis is leaning forward, mouth open, and noctis takes a breath that must calcify in his lungs because he can’t _breathe_ suddenly — it’s too hot and the backs of the studs on ignis’s flattened blazer are biting into his scrabbling palm. noctis’s fingernails test the stone of the platform, bending, scraping, as ignis’s cheeks hollow around his length, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock. long fingers wrap around the base and slide with the spit which dribbles down from where ignis sucks and licks and bobs between noctis's thighs.  

there's not much he can describe it as other than _new_. it's incomparable to anything noctis knows, after all. there's no memory that stirs at this, just a blaze in noctis's gut that tells him he likes the wet heat of ignis's mouth and the way ignis laves his tongue against the slit of noctis's dick, satisfyingly _thorough_. this joint venture of theirs isn't supposed to be for pleasure, nothing more than a means to an end, but noctis realizes with no small deal of guilt that it's becoming increasingly difficult to damper down his breathing and to keep his hips rooted in place because _gods_ if he doesn't want to chase that warmth when ignis draws near the head.

without warning, ignis pulls away with a muted pop, looking up at noctis with his lips swollen red and slick with spit, debauched. there’s a rawness to his eyes that hits noctis like a bad warp, like when he doesn’t stick the landing and the world spins sharp and the ground knocks the air clean out of his chest. it makes noctis dizzy and feverish and aware of just how throbbingly hard he is and how cool the air is on the inches of him that have been in ignis’s mouth.

“you might — lie back, now,” ignis says, breathy and low, and noctis nods dumbly, as though he’s half-asleep and ignis is telling him what to expect for breakfast.

he obliges. the slab is cold beneath him, but noctis figures the jackets help, somewhat, and considers it good thinking ahead on ignis's part. he'd rather focus on that than the fact his cock is out and aching and curved against his stomach with just a shirt to keep it from smearing saliva and precum over his skin. the fabric below his navel dampens and noctis's half-mast gaze reacquaints itself with the skyward gloom as, out of the corner of his eye, ignis pulls something small out of his front pocket, places it on the platform, and sets about divesting himself of his shoes and accoutrements, back turned.

there's the shuffle of garments as ignis's clothes seemingly meet the stonework. noctis wonders if it bothers him, not having the time to fold them properly, but then figures some odd creases and the dirt filming the ground would be the least of their problems tonight.

noctis hears ignis join him on the platform, feels some part of him bump his knee as he climbs on, but he must be closer to the opposite end, because noctis sees only the spiring dark up above, no glimpse of mousy hair or broad shoulders at the edge of his sights. something skates lightly against the fine rock surface of the slab, and noctis _still_ hasn't learned not to look, propping himself up on his elbows, neck straining.

with any prolonged road trip comes the expectation one will, at one point or another, see other members of said road trip naked. it's not a big affair — it just happens when boarding arrangements are tight, and a complementary towel loosens too early here or someone ducks into the tent at the wrong time there, all easily dismissed with a _my bad_ or an _ever heard of knocking?_ but more often than not just brushed under the rug, trivial, because their bodies aren't altogether new to each other. years of physical education with prompto and training with gladio has noctis desensitized to accidental run-ins and the like, so he doesn't flinch too big anymore; he doesn't linger.

but noctis has never gotten a good look at ignis without his glasses, let alone his clothes. his button-up still remains, funny enough, though noctis isn't paying any mind to the off-white of his shirt as it drapes loosely on his torso when ignis is bracketing noctis's legs with his own, long and bare and bent. he's kneeling away from noctis, clad in his top and socks, shoulder blades poised under the cover of cotton as his fingers shine with something pearlescent and wet and hover between the curves of his ass.

noctis catches sight of what's in ignis's other hand. a packet of lubricant, half-emptied. his eyes flicker back to where the bottom of ignis's shirt is rucked up just enough for him to press a slick finger inside himself, slow and methodical, and past that fluid motion, noctis can see the heavy hang of ignis's beading cock twitch between the v of his carved thighs. he feels his pulse plummet low in his belly and beat and swell in fervent sympathy.

the finger slides out, and then it's a pair of them, pushing in knuckle by knuckle as lube drips thick down the back of his generous hand. noctis stares, mouth dry, mind blank, as they begin to crook and ply and stretch the ring of muscle between ignis's legs, and he has to wonder if ignis is breathing manually at this point because his chest expands and shrinks and appears to stall, at times, with forgone shudders.

moments crawl by, quiet save for the damp squelches of ignis's ministrations and the sound of noctis swallowing once or twice, until ignis is twisting to peer over a shoulder, skin dusted with color up to his ears. for a second, noctis dreads ignis will recognize the slipshod mess of guilt and anticipation in his expression, but he doesn't spare a glance at noctis's face at all, merely dispenses the rest of the lube into his tried hand, tosses the packet, and takes noctis into his grasp again.

noctis's adam's apple struggles along his neck, ignis's palm slick and warm through the cool slather of lubricant he runs from the head of noctis's dick down to the base. ignis jerks him in deliberate pulls until noctis is coated and throbbing in his hand. ignis's mouth unseals as he gazes, heavily lidded, at where his fist shines around noctis's length, but it yields nothing aside from a flash of pink as he wets his lips, his silence persistent. his head returns front and center and tilts forward, from what noctis can tell, and then ignis is shifting, lowering himself down.

it's _tight_ , so tight that it sweeps noctis clear off his elbows, his skull thudding gently against the platform as his hands shoot for his hair, fingers tangling themselves in unkempt shocks of black. a silken heat envelops the head of his dick, pressure sweet and steadfast, and noctis has to squeeze his eyes shut, acutely aware of the sweat that's breaking out over his chest, dappling his back. breath sputters and rasps to thinness in his throat, but even so noctis almost chokes on it as he clamps down on an instinctive gust of ignis's name, illusion of intimacy dashed against the lock of his teeth.

the descent is slow and every inch wrenches the gut-deep burn havocking noctis's body hotter and higher, his skin fevered up to his hairline. ignis's hips sway a fraction of a movement as he slides closer still, and noctis all but forgets himself at that, bucking up into the snug fit, friction too good, blazing.

from on top, ignis sucks in a sharp swill of air, and noctis isn't sure whether it's pained or surprised, the beginnings of an apology cutting through the sweltering haze in his lungs. but then ignis is grinding down, the roll of his hips sinuous and _heavy_ , and noctis feels those words disintegrate in the slipstream of the strangled groan tumbling from his lips, quiet but agonizingly palpable between them. again, he rocks upwards, and the feeling which rushes him isn't so much unlike when he weaves fire out of the earth, heady and warm and powerful. ignis flexes taut around him and one of noctis's hands flies for the crest of ignis's hip, button-up crimping under his rigid fingers, and on second thought, noctis decides the sensations are nothing alike at all.

there's something comforting about the fact that ignis's skin is just as hot and flushed as his is. they share a temperature, and that seems more personal than the undulations of their slotted bodies, though noctis isn't even sure that he'd want something more visceral or ardent, because he's already having a hard enough time keeping up with ignis's protracted bounces without the added pressure of having to look ignis in the face or watch his neglected cock rebound off noctis's stomach, sloppy and leaking.

noctis considers offering a hand in that regard, but the situation is so delicate that they've eschewed speech itself for fear of compromising it further. his fingers around ignis might not help as much as he'd like, and the touch might not be welcome, besides.

he hadn't expected himself to last long — a symptom of being inexperienced; if anything, noctis is just surprised he didn't come sooner, when ignis was swallowing him down, tongue bold and wet and agreeable — but neither had he expected ignis's cadence to pick up, nor for the hasty glide of muscle around him to spur him into a few impulsive, carnal thrusts against the weight bearing upon his hips. noctis's heart is pounding warnings into his neck, short and harsh so that he might understand through the wanting fog in his head, but they don't translate well on his tongue, and all he manages is a ragged gasp of, " _'m gonna—_ " before he spills into ignis's ass, hot and viscid, breath punching out of his chest with a heave.

while white is still vignetting the backs of noctis's eyelids, the temple seems to settle, coughing dust from the mortar, and somewhere far away from the sanctum, the entrance unlocks.

* * *

outside, the fresh air is spun brisk with early morning dew. prompto comments on how nice it is to see something other than rocks and spiderwebs, albeit the conversation doesn't take off. the walk back is as muted as dawn.

jacket bundled under his arm, noctis volunteers for the driver's seat once they reach the regalia. it's his car and they're all exhausted, so no one fights him for it.

the engine turns over and they hit the road, and for the rest of the radio-filled drive, noctis doesn't check the rearview mirror as often as he should.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're wondering "wait, did ignis get to finish??" the answer is no, we awkwardly let our boners die like men
> 
> the title is a bad pun


End file.
